


Still My Body

by my_own_reality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ADD Stiles, ADHD, Bromance, Comfort, Comforting Scott, Cuddling, Cute Friendship, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hyperactive Stiles, Medication, Plantonic - Freeform, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Series, Sciles, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles wants to be normal, add
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_own_reality/pseuds/my_own_reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles never was very good at being still. Scott helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still My Body

His limbs are filled with electricity, his body heavy with the constant need to twist and jerk and flail. It's hard to concentrate, the familiar float and snap of in and out attentiveness wreaking havoc on his essay. Long fingers dance on the desk, flicking the pen with a repetitive crack against the hard surface as the other hand tugs on brown strands that are beginning to tangle under the ministrations. His eyes flick up to the empty pill bottle on the shelf and he curses how dependent he’s become on the meds to keep him still. He groans in frustration, two hours and three paragraphs into this and he doesn’t think he can sit through the next four front and back pages. Fucking history.  
Fingers tickle the back of his neck and he jumps in surprise, his broad shoulders twisting to spy the intruder. Scott’s smiling that infuriating half smile, cheek dimpled and brown eyes creasing in amusement.  
“Having fun?” Scott’s struggling not to chuckle and it makes Stiles want to punch him.  
“Dude, this is so not funny. This is as far as you can get from funny. I mean, we surpassed funny about an hour and a half ago. Funny is laughing at us from three hundred miles awa-” Stiles’ rambling is cut short by a hand slapped over his mouth, his cry of discontentment muffled by the slightly sweaty palm.  
“Stiles, cool it. Relax.”  
Stiles groans again, ramming his head into his palms. He turns back to Scott, falling off the chair and onto his knees, hands clasped in front of him.  
“Scotty, buddy, best friend, please, you gotta help me. I'm dying here, pity me,” Stiles puts on his very best puppy dog eyes “Do my essay for me?”  
Scott looks distinctly unimpressed, eyebrows quirking in a slightly amused ‘are you serious?’ expression.  
“I spent the better half of three hours doing that essay yesterday, there is no way in hell I am going through that again,” Scott says with an exaggerated shudder of disgust.  
Stiles groans again, his expression hopeless.  
“You're the worst best friend ever.”  
Stiles turns back to the desk, his knee jumping and swaying his head from side to side slightly to try and get some of the goddamn energy out of his body. He struggles for about five minutes more, Scott still standing over him, before hands start to gently rub his shoulders.  
“Dude, you need to sit still,” Scott shifts so their eyes meet, hands still on his shoulders, “when was the last time you took your meds?”  
Stiles’ eyes dart back up to the empty bottle, Scott following his gaze. Understanding dawns on his handsome features and he smiles sympathetically at a frustrated Stiles.  
“Why don't you just fill the prescription? I’ll call your dad, he can probably pick them up on the way back from work,” Scott’s in the process of pulling out his phone when Stiles lunges for him, a strangled ‘no!’ in his throat. Scott jumps back, looking a hilarious mix of alarmed and surprised as he gazes at where Stiles is crumpled on the floor. The 15 year old looks back at him with utter desperation.  
“I, I don't want them Scott, I don't. I just,” he looks down, “I don't need them okay? I need to not need them.”  
Stiles keeps his eyes to the floor, feeling oddly ashamed. He feels Scott sit down next to him, shoulders, arms and legs pressed together and Stiles shifts impossibly closer, still not looking at his best friend. They sit together, body to body, for longer than either of them bothers to count and, for the first time since he ran out of meds five days ago, Stiles isn't twitching or flailing or fiddling. The heat of Scott’s body beside him soothes him in a way he’d forgotten only Scott can do. Scott says nothing, for which Stiles is grateful, and he bathes in the quiet, the electricity that has been constantly thrumming beneath his skin draining from his body.  
Eventually, Scott breaks the silence, knowing that Stiles always needs that extra little push to start talking.  
“What's going on buddy?”  
It's quiet for a minute. “I don't know,” Stiles finally mutters, the floor holding his fascination, “I guess I'm just sick of being so dependent on them. I just needed to know that I could do fine without them.”  
It feels stupid now, saying it out loud, but Stiles hates the meds and their power over him. Scott is quiet beside him.  
Finally, Scott stands, reaching a hand down to Stiles. Stiles looks dumbly at it for a second.  
“Come on,” Scott says patiently “This essay isn't going to write itself.”  
Stiles lets Scott pull him up and then tug him in for a quick hug, the ‘I'm always there for you, meds or no meds’ and ‘I believe in you’ all in one embrace. Stiles forgot how good of a friend Scott is. Two hours later, Stiles shoves the finished paper in his bag with great satisfaction. He promises Scott substantial amount of Taco Bell for his efforts. He's sure Scott will make sure he follows through.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments mean the world to me and I would love to take any requests anyone has.


End file.
